


Any Port in a Storm

by Salamandersickfic



Category: Hornblower (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Epilepsy, Fever, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Illness, M/M, Period Typical Bigotry, Pre-Slash, Seizures, Sick Character, Sickfic, Sneezing, period typical medical ignorance, spoilers for The Duchess and the Devil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:42:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23564719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salamandersickfic/pseuds/Salamandersickfic
Summary: In the aftermath of 'The Duchess and the Devil' Archie's self worth hits a new low, not helped by his seizure disorder and a nasty chill. Horatio isn't sure how to help, but he's willing to give it everything he has.
Relationships: Horatio Hornblower/Archie Kennedy
Comments: 2
Kudos: 43





	Any Port in a Storm

Any Port in a Storm- A Horatio Hornblower story

The year is 1798.

The wind whistled through the rigging of _HMS Indefatigable_ , whipping up spray from the sea like handfuls of gravel to join the sheets of rain which lashed at the deck. The great grey clouds that stewed overhead were so low that the horizon was blurred and indistinguishable from the shifting steel surface of the ocean. Although the weather was dramatic; the sails snapped and billowed like washing on a line in the irregular gusts of wind and the masts creaked with a sound as though the ship was crying out under the strain, it was no more than a seasonal squall of the kind almost inspected on this part of the passage back to England.

Every so often a wave would fling itself ambitiously onto the deck and add to the inch or so of water sloshing from side to side in mimicry of the greater ocean, but it was nothing a few men with buckets to bail with couldn't handle. The whole crew was on deck, working to take in sail lest they be driven off course, but without particular urgency; the ratings seemed in fairly good spirits as they wrestled with the great unwieldy sheets of canvas, while the senior officers in their navy jackets and white breeches could be seen moving efficiently among them, with one notable exception. It occurred to the lone figure who stood on the quarterdeck that he did not really, in truth, need to be there.

Horatio Hornblower was getting gradually soaked where he stood. He could feel the wind and wet chapping the skin of his cheeks where they had become unused to the sting of salt, yet he was glad of the taste of it on his lips for it meant that he was back in His Majesty's Navy. No longer on dry land, no longer imprisoned. It meant that he was home. The feeling of freedom he gained from feeling the deck tilt beneath his feet was well balanced against the unpleasant creeping coldness of rain sliding down the collar of his greatcoat, setting him to shivering.

He did not have to be out in the elements. There was nothing for him to do here; the young Midshipman who had obviously been hired during his absence appeared to have filled his shoes infuriatingly well, shouting orders in a clear, confident voice so that the mainsail was taken in just as far as was necessary for a mild storm such as this. Horatio noticed a few tasks done sloppily, which as Acting Lieutenant he would never had allowed, but he knew better than to undermine another officer's authority- it would neither win him friends nor aid the progress of the crew to give conflicting orders. Much as he hated to admit it, despite his long absence, _Indefatigable_ seemed to be running like well-tuned, if somewhat drenched, clockwork. However, although he felt perfectly redundant standing and watching, Horatio knew the feeling would be worse if he were to go below and wait out in the storm in the berth he'd been assigned. Being a sailor meant you were never to lie idle when the wind blew like this. There was work to be done somewhere on the ship, there always was, so lieing in a hammock rocked by the storm would be as unpleasantly foreign to him as the Spanish coastline he had only too recently escaped.

“Mister Hornblower!” A familiar voice called him from his reverie.

The deep and commanding tones of a man well used to making himself heard over the dirtiest of weather made it clear that Horatio was being hailed by no less a personage than Sir Edward Pellew, Captain of the Indefatigable and a rigidly uniformed force to be reckoned with.

“Sir!” Horatio turned smartly towards his Captain, instantly ready for instruction, but the man remained sheltering in a doorway, an expression of disbelief visible from under his impressive bicorn hat.

  
“I told you that your party are relieved from active duty until we make port. Your presence is not required on deck.”

“I was just seeing-” Horatio began, only to be interrupted.

“Are you insane, man? Get below!”

Any hesitation to obey must have showed on his face, but Pellew had only to open his mouth to begin “That is an _order,_ Lieutenant Hornblower” for Horatio to know that he had disobeyed his Captain as much as would be tolerated, and not without some relief he retreated to join his superior out of the rain.

“Despite your obvious doubts, I am quite able to run a tight ship despite the unforseen absence of one junior officer.” Pellew remarked as they walked together back in the direction of the Captain's quarters. His tone was cold and Horatio re-experienced the familiar awe he felt in the presence of the Captain. It was always coupled with a sense of unease in that Horatio could never be sure whether or not the man was joking.

Pellew seemed serious, though, when he asked “What is it about that crew of yours, Mister Hornblower? I just had to tell Midshipman Kennedy exactly the same thing. You both seem determined to catch your deaths to no obvious gain.”

“It won't happen again, Sir.” Horatio replied, almost but not entirely sure he had caught a slight twinkle in the man's eyes under his steely frown.

As they neared the berth Horatio had been assigned, Pellew seemed to wax thoughtful, lowering his voice somewhat. “I shall have to have a word with you about your Mister Kennedy, perhaps when we are docked.” As if responding to the promise of a safe harbour soon the deck lurched slightly under their feet. Pellew barely moved but to his shame Horatio found himself staggering, his legs unused to the motion of a ship beneath him and not helped by the cold rain which felt as though it had seeped into his muscles.

“Yes, now is perhaps not the time.” Pellew mused. “But we will reach Plymouth tomorrow afternoon. Now go and get out of your wet things for goodness' sake, man. That was a waste of a perfectly clean, dry uniform.”

“Sir.”

Horatio had no sooner touched his hat then Pellew was gone, heavy cloak flowing smartly out behind, leaving Horatio to wonder exactly when the fellow officer with whom he was now sharing a berth had become _his_ Mister Kennedy.

* * *

There was a lamp burning in the tiny berth and its light made leaping shadows on the wooden walls as the _Indefatigable's_ restless motion set it swinging from the hook where it hung. Horatio stepped inside gratefully.

“Hullo Archie.” He said softly. “You look as wet as I feel.”

Archie Kennedy turned around sharply at the sound of his voice, as if startled, but visibly relaxed when he saw who had disturbed him. The warm glow lit upon a figure only a little shorter than Horatio himself and broader in the shoulder despite months of starvation.

Horatio could not help but notice that the lamplight was kind to Archie's tanned complexion, turning both the blonde hair and fair skin golden. His face still carried the hollow, haunted aspect Horatio had found upon him when they finally found each other after, but in the lamplight he looked better than he had in months and it was easy to see that he would make someone a handsome husband one day, God willing. He was indeed thoroughly drenched by the rain- his coat, hat and boots may have been set aside to drip but his navy-blue jacket showed black at the shoulders where the rain had soaked through.

There was a pause before Archie looked up and said, “I didn't hear you come in.”

“Captain Pellew ordered me off the deck.”

“Ah. You too. So it wasn't that he didn't want me commanding his men.”

There was a lot that Horatio could say to that, but he didn't. He recalled all too clearly the conversation they had shared as Archie lay nearly dieing in the sickbay of the Spanish prison.

“ _Well, don't you want to get back, hm? Stand on the deck of the Indie, hear the wind in the rigging-”_

“ _-and hear how Horatio Hornblower rescued his shipmate from prison.” Archie had looked up at him from the sickbed, and those eyes, which had been glazed and misfocused suddenly lit right on him, blue and bitter._

_“It won't be like that, Archie.”He had said._

_But Archie had almost laughed, finding some warped humour in his own helplessness._

“ _It will be just like that.”_

“Archie...” It was a soft, useless syllable as in their tiny shared berth on the Indefatigable, Horatio settled for touching his friend lightly on the arm when their paths crossed whilst setting their wet things to dry.

He never did know what to say when someone decided to bare their soul to him, and Archie's bitter comment made him feel more foolish than anything else. It wasn't that Archie Kennedy was disgraced- Captain Pellew had been grieved when he believed Archie lost in action and both grateful and amazed to find him still alive- but as long as Archie believed _himself_ of no value, there was little Horatio could say to heal the wounds on his soul.

It was enough that Archie did not shrug off the gesture, and Horatio let that be a scrap of comfort as he settled into his hammock and tried to get warm enough for sleep to take him. Despite the blanket he couldn't seem to shake off the chill of the storm in his bones, though perhaps it was only that the could hear the creak of the masts and feel the uneasy rhythm as the weather tossed the ship. Archie felt it too, Horatio could hear the even rhythm of the man's breath break and flicker with the chattering of Archie's teeth, though it could just have easily have been the sound of his own.

The storm seemed to be easing. The wail of the wind had died down so that it was possible to make out the rain drumming on the wooden sides of the ship like thoughtful fingers and the two hammocks swung in a steadier, more lulling fashion as the rhythm of the sea reasserted itself. Despite this, their brittle exchange had left Horatio with an uncomfortable awareness that something wasn't right.

This damnable bitter weather would do his friend no good at all, weak as he was.

“Aren't you cold, Archie?” He asked into the dark, meaning to offer his blanket. Archie did not reply, did not even move.

  
“Goodnight.” Horatio said eventually.

Though Archie did not reply, when he reached instinctively for the man he found Archie's hand was also outstretched in the darkness. He took it and for a single, blessed moment he squeezed and Archie squeezed wordlessly back. As shivering cold seeped into blessed sleep, Horatio Hornblower decided to be grateful for small mercies.

* * *

It was late afternoon by the time they made port in Plymouth and the sun was just struggling to break through a thick bank of white cloud. Horatio Hornblower was glad for the warmth of the rays on his face and he closed his eyes momentarily, breathing deeply of the cold, brisk air which carried all the familiar smells of the dockside.

As he looked to his companion he saw that Archie was doing the same. 

However, any decision to walk further along the dockside was curtailed when first one drop of cold rain and then another fell onto Horatio's face and dripped down his long nose.

“I think we must take that as a sign and repair to an Inn. I have no desire to be soaked to the skin on two consecutive evenings.”

Midshipman Kennedy looked fit to argue, but then he shivered and nodded his head in resigned agreement. “I had really hoped my return to English soil might be a little more glorious” he said, ruefully.

“Come now, to the men on the Indie you appear to have returned from the dead. Let that be sufficient.”

“Aye. That will have to do.”  
  


They walked along the main street in silence for some time, heads tilted down to keep of the worst of the rain. The orange lights of various establishments resolved themselves out of the gloom and dissipated again as the men passed them by, intent on finding an resting place at least one level up from the kind of grog-shop where the ratings were doubtless already drowning their sorrows. Horatio moved forwards with purpose, Archie a pace behind him as though they were already Lieutenant and Acting Lieutenant, but he supposed it was the first time in three years Archie Kennedy had been somewhere more crowded than the Indefatigable. After three years of foreign jails it was unsurprising that Plymouth was a little more than he was ready for.

As they moved onwards, Archie fell further and further behind, lagging in pace as he looked around him with something between satisfaction and apprehension.

Horatio looked back with concern. “I fear returning to your duties so soon has overtaxed you. Dr Hepplewhite said-”

“To hell with Dr. Hepplewhite.” Archie said in frustration. “It's good for me to stretch my legs. If only I wasn't so damnably light-headed.”  
  


Here Archie paused, those blue eyes looking away from Horatio with an anxious flicker of his eyelids. Such was the misfocus of his expression that Horatio wondered if the man was likely to take a fit, and if he did, whether Horatio could catch his friend before that blonde head hit the cobbles. However his fears were unfounded and Archie merely pinched at the bridge of his nose with a murmured “-never mind. Lead on, it's freezing out here.”

They only moved a few more yards, boots splashing in the water pooled between the uneven cobbles, when he halted again, leaning one hand against a wall in a way that was clearly supposed to be casual. He seemed about to say something then shrugged, steeling himself to walk a little further and only opened his mouth to husk a cough into one fist and swipe the raindrops from his eyes with an dispassionate “Damn this rain.”

Horatio was at his side in a moment.

“Are you quite alright, Mister Kennedy?”

The man's answer was to suddenly dip his head into both hands to sneeze discretely, once and then a second time, shielding his face with his wrist.

“ _hp'Kff!_ _”_ A breath. “ _Hffsch!”_ and a murmured “I beg your pardon.” before Archie faced him again.

“God bless.”

They walked a little further, turning down a wide street that Horatio remembered from a previous visit. On either side tall buildings listed up, their chimney pots making a forest of silhouettes against the darkening sky. A light wind blew the rain into their faces and made him turn his collar up and squint. It was nothing compared to a storm at sea, but it was chill and unpleasant. Behind him Archie did the same, repressing another sneeze into the back of his wrist.

“God bless.” Horatio said again, paying full attention to his friend's plight now so that he turned his head to catch Archie's eyes, only to find them averted from him, hazily unfocused. Archie held an expression of exquisite irritation for a fraction of a second before his head was forced into his hands by another set of sneezes.

“God _bless_ you, Mister Kennedy.”

He noticed that Archie retained one broad hand gathered awkwardly at his face and when he drew a breath it was an unpleasant, damp sniff. The poor man sounded as though the rainwater had made its way into his very bones. Archie sniffed again, and then a third time.

Horatio kept his face fixed firmly away, determined not to notice his companion's embarrassing state but with a growing sense of irritation. For goodness sake, did the man not have a handkerchief to his name? Archie may have been out of society for some time but even in prison he had always been a gentleman. Yet before Horatio's frustration could fully form itself out of nebulous distaste, Archie addressed him.

“Thank you. Could you-” The voice was low and awkward. Archie was not looking at him, either. A pity then that he had a frog in his throat and had to start the sentence a second time.

“I don't suppose I could trouble you for your pocket handkerchief, Mister _-snf-_ Hornblower?” he said sheepishly.

Suddenly Horatio understood- as a prisoner of war, Archie had lost everything but the uniform he had stood up. And there he was doubting the man's propriety! He could have kicked himself.

“Of course, Mister Kennedy. Here-” He produced the requested item from the inside breast pocket of his jacket and pressed it into Archie's hand, averting his eyes as the man blew his nose wetly.

  
“I seem to have misplaced mine somewhere on the march across France. And to think I hadn't noticed the loss until now.”

The gentle flippancy of it made Horatio smile even as he shook his head, tutting teasingly “In that case we shall make repairing the situation our first priority tomorrow morning.”

Indeed, the hoarse edge on the man's voice, coupled with that damp, persistent sniffling made Horatio suspect that this action might be necessary for other reasons than propriety alone.

* * *

Since their time as midshipmen together, the two had long been used to sharing quarters that were less than pleasant, not to mention that less than a week ago they were still sharing a tiny, filthy cell in a Spanish prison. Horatio's newly acquired Lieutenant's pay furnished them with a good deal more space than they had been used to over the years, but he hardly noticed the clean wooden floor, or the double bed which was absurdly spacious to those used to consecutive hammocks, so relieved was he to get himself and his companion in front of a warm fire. Horatio moved instinctively to its warmth and spread his hands in an attempted to rub some life back into his deadened fingertips. He sudden heat, though gentle, made his joints feel as though they themselves were burning as he flexed his fingers.

Meanwhile, Archie alighted on one of the two rather thread-bare wing chairs which flanked the grate. He seemed excessively drained by the walk up the stairs, the trek across town and the force of the elements- his face was pale and despite the cold a little sweat dampened his forehead where it should have been protected by his hat. He'd loosened his stock a little and Horatio could see his friend's pulse flicker there like a butterfly under a glass.

Horatio removed his own hat, boots and coat in short order, before slipping out of his uniform jacket and hanging it on the back of his chair.

A sudden sound broke the quiet of the room and startled Horatio from his thoughts, but snapping his head around he realised that it was only Mister Kennedy coughing spasmodically into one first. Though it began as a husking clearing of the throat, once he had started the man seemed hardly able to stop. The sound went on too long, and Horatio did not much fancy the tight, painful sound as it shook his friend's shoulders, doubling him over where he sat so that he braced one arm against his thigh to steady himself.

“I beg your pardon, H-horatio-” Archie tried to say, but the words seemed to prickle his throat and only set him coughing again, harder and more deeply than before.

“Water?”

Without waiting for a reply, Horatio crossed the room to fill a pewter mug from the jug which stood, as he had hoped, on the narrow dresser. Archie took it from him and gulped gratefully, the shudders subsiding, though Horatio thought he could see Archie suppressing a wince at the first, painfully overeager swallow.

“There...” The word left his lips and Horatio was surprised at it, meaningless and as such, useless, as it was.

He patted Archie's shoulder again, once more possessed of the need to reassure himself that Archie was real, was truly alive and, warm and solid beneath his fingers. Archie seemed to the relish the touch, too, relaxing against Horatio's body for a luxurious moment where the man stood beside his seated form. Those blue eyes drifted closed.

“Better?” Horatio asked at last. His words broke the spell and the other man straightened somewhat before bending down and beginning to untie his boots.

“Yes, thank you. You'll have to excuse me Mister Hornblower, I don't know what's come over me.”

Had Archie Kennedy always taken refuge in formality, or was it a recent defence upon finding himself back in the navy now that his closest friend was a superior officer? Due to their close friendship, he'd been wont to employ Horatio's title and full name with a hint of irony, but was that what was happening here?

“Shh. Come on, Archie, get those wet things off. You're making me cold just looking at you.”  
  


Much as he hated the necessity, his friend responded to a direct command better than to any amount of hinting, and looked down at his damp jacket as if for the first time. He was soon stripped to his shirtsleeves and drew his chair closer to the fire.

For a long time there was stillness. Horatio bustled about the room; receiving his sea-chest when it was brought up for him and donning his other jacket, retying the stock at his throat into a neat knot that would keep out the weather, he found his eyes were drawn again and again to the figure by the fire. The warm light was kind to Archie's boyish features for all that it picked out the shadow under his eyes and cheekbones. It turned his hair to true gold and Horatio noticed now that the curls were over-long around his friend's face. Perhaps Archie would allow him to cut it? The thought of such closeness, of an excuse to bury his fingers in the silken stuff, made him smile.

Archie seemed to catch him staring, and there was surprise in his eyes to see Horatio standing over him in full midshipman's uniform.

“Are you going somewhere?”

“I am to meet with Captain Pellew at six.” Horatio said, mustering all his formality and newly-acquired Lieutenant's authority not to add _“to discuss you, I expect.”_

He didn't need to add that information to see Archie's expression close down, the haunted, bitter look acquired in prison washing over his usual open expression.

“I dare say the Captain will want an opportunity to congratulate you properly. After all, not only did you pass your Lieutenant's exams with an act of supreme courage in saving several ships of the royal fleet, you rescued all your men from a Spanish prison along with a handful extra. You're certainly back on form.”

Sarcasm would be too strong a word, for that was a strategy Archie Kennedy would never resort to, but there was certainly a resigned edge to the praise. When had the man learned to be so bitter? Horatio answered himself- perhaps during the beatings, or when you were to preoccupied to even notice him trying to kill himself.

  
“It's more likely he wishes to dock my pay to make up for the loss of _La Reve_.” Possible, though not likely, indeed. Horatio hoped that saving a handful of prisoners considered missing in action would outweigh his losing the first ship he had ever been in command of to the Spanish dons. “I shan't be gone long. Do you want to walk along the dock with me, get some fresh air?”

“I'm fine here.” Archie said. Then, “I've got in the way of your successes enough of late.”

The bitterness in the man's voice made Horatio want to shake his shoulders, whilst the equal and opposite resignation sparked in him the desire to clasp his friend to his chest. Archie coughed again and touched a hand to his throat in a delicate, unconscious gesture before running it frustratedly down the bridge of his nose.

“... I didn't mean that.” He said at last. “I'm not myself.”

Before Horatio could respond, Archie's breathing hitched audibly and he turned away again, fishing Horatio's handkerchief from his pocket just in time for him to smother a sudden sneeze into it.

“ _hp-_ _ **chsch**_ _!”_

“God bless y-” Horatio offered, but Archie only interrupted him with another.

The breath he let out afterward was heavy and tired-sounding, and he did not dare remove the cloth from his face but glanced away from Horatio awkwardly. Horatio, who had winced at the way each release seemed to tear through his friend's throat, found now to be a convenient time to go and retrieve his boots from the other side of the room. He had never much liked blowing his nose in front of people either.

When he returned, Archie had composed himself but he looked more tired than ever. Something about the discomfort on his features wrenched at Horatio's heart- Archie had been getting well and looking so much better, but today's exertions had brought all the gauntness he had found on the man's face in the prison cell back into his features, even if only to a lesser degree. Archie was fine, he was alive and well and here in the room with Horatio, and Horatio was being ridiculous, but the distant expression reminded him of that day when it had rained, and a preoccupied Horatio had heard Archie's voice fade out of the conversation only to turn around and find the man unconscious. Through his own neglect and selfishness Archie had nearly died, and Horatio would never, never let that happen again, he- Horatio mentally shook himself. Why did the man resting by the fire, his broad chest rising and falling with restful breathing, conjure in him such a wild, desperately protective streak? He was being absurd.

He thought he recognised the stuffed-up cadence of his friend's voice now, though- the rasp of it made him want to brew a cup of hot tea with honey- and the reaction unmanned him. He longed to put his arms around Archie, to smooth his hair as he had done so easily when the man had been feverish and shaken by nightmares back in prison. For no logical reason, sharing affection then had been permissible, inevitable even, and he could not restrain himself, but then he never could, not with Archie. Until now.

“God bless you.” He said again, now that the man seemed to have finished, and then, feeling faintly ridiculous “Archie you- you sound as though you're catching a chill.”

The man made to protest, but he was shivering now despite the warmth of the fire, and his first attempt at speech came out so hoarsely it nearly set his coughing again. Eventually he said,

“It would be just my-” Half way through the admission, the man's usually well enunciated voice took on an airy, congested and thoroughly ticklish quality and he interrupted himself with a desperate, resigned “excuse me, Horatio-” After giving his warning the desire to sneeze seemed to back away, teasing his senses such that he did not dare lower the handkerchief from where he held it just in front of his face. “-just _my- hk'_ _ **KSSCh**_ _!”_

“God bless you. You're shivering.” Horatio observed, crossing the room again to stand by his friend's side.

“I congratulate you on your perspicacity, sir.”

That was a favourite expression of Captain Pellew's, harking back to the time when they had only just been transferred to the Indefatigable. Archie had always had a keen eye for a foibles of superiors, and an actor's talent for mimicry, and his bright wit made Horatio grin now as it had then.

“You should be resting.”

  
“I think I'll read a little first.” Archie said.

“Is there a law which keeps you from doing that in bed?”

“Perhaps not,” Archie's voice was light enough as he said it but waxed serious as he turned to look at Horatio, eyes narrowing. “But I cannot let you go to the Captain, Horatio.”

Horatio swallowed. Could Archie know that the Captain intended to discuss Horatio's exploits and thus Archie's too?

“Why's that?”

The man's tired face lit slowly into the grin he knew so well.

“Because you look as though you slept with your head in a sack. Come here.”

Horatio laughed in relief as Archie rose and directed him to the newly vacated chair, returning a few minute's later with the comb from Horatio's seachest.

Horatio schooled his body to relax as cunning fingers loosened the strip of black silk ribbon which was standard-issue for an officer in His Magesty's Navy, and draped it over the arm of the chair. Archie took Horatio's dark hair in one hand, working the comb from root to tip in a motion that was rhythmic and efficient without ever being rough.

The simple touch took him back years. In his days new midshipman he had relied on the more experienced Archie to tie his pigtail for him, and in truth he still didn't have the knack of it, for all he had been forced to learn the skill when he believed Archie lost in action. During those first cold weeks after Archie's “death” every time he wrestled with the ribbon was a painful reminder, the cramp in his fingers from repeated attempts beating a muted counterpoint to the ache in his heart.

“I might have to pull.”Archie said sympathetically as he leaned in to get to a stubborn knot in Horatio's curls, so that his words were accompanied by a rush of warm breath. The other man's breath touched the sensitive spot behind Horatio's ear in a way that was deliciously ticklish, sending bolts of lightning running down his neck and side. It was only then that Horatio began to remember how his younger self had enjoyed having the older boy tend him in this way, how good it was to have Midshipman Kennedy run his fingers through Horatio's hair each morning. When they were in prison, with Archie so sick, Horatio had repaid the favour but that hadn't been the same. Of course he would tend a friend who was ill, and Archie would do the same for him, that went without saying. Something about this touch was different. He was a grown man now and didn't need Archie's help to keep himself presentable, but Archie himself had _offered_ this assistance, this affection, as small as it was.

“Ship shape and Bristol fashion.” Archie said at last, when Horatio had placed the hat firmly on his head and straightened his rain-soaked lapels as best as he could. “You look-”

His features slipped into the expression of confused anticipation which was now familiar. His eyelids fluttered and the corner of his mouth twitched in an expression that appeared so distinctly _ticklish_ that Horatio knew his friend could not hold his composure for much longer. Archie's hand made a curious gesture, cast briefly towards his pocket in frantic desire for the handkerchief until he seemed to realise, mid-motion, that there was no way he would get there in time. Instead he hovered it infront of his face as his breath drew an agonised, preparatory “ _hheh_ ” before his body flinched in on itself like a book snapping shut.

The result was an appropriately sharp “ _ngk_ _ **TSCH!”**_

The man's expression in the aftermath was one of perfect, miserable frustration, yet Horatio knew instinctively that it was not directed at himself. Archie seemed to feel that the events of the last three years had used up some store of weakness and left him loathe to express even a fraction more, though his body compelled him to it. Horatio did not much like the sound of repressed, husky coughing that the outburst generated, nor the moment of dizzy disorientation in Archie's eyes as he straightened himself, already apologising.

Alas, time was fleeting, and with an eye to his pocket-watch Horatio contented himself with an affirming slap to Archie's shoulder as he passed him in the doorway, finding nothing more succinct to say than a conciliatory “Get some rest.”

If there were things unsaid between the two men that hung in the silence as the door shut, Horatio studiously ignored them, setting his jaw and squaring his shoulders against the next challenge of the day.

* * * *

Upon entering the Inn, it was immediately apparent that something was wrong. There was no chaos, no musketshots, no crowd of people, none of the sights and sounds of carnage to which Horatio Hornblower had been hardened by way of a career in the Navy, yet the sight that greeted him was enough to set his heart hammering uncomfortably in his chest.

There was a small knot of people hanging around in an awkward fashion and at their centre was a wing-chair containing a slumped figure in naval uniform. The low light of the parlour glinted on brass buttons, on a tangle of golden hair hanging loose and upon the creamy skin of the man's throat where his jacket and shirt had been opened, evidently to give him some air.

“Archie?”

Horatio needed only to take one pace into the room to see that his suspicion was correct.

Archie's limbs hung loose and heavy, his head tilted right back to rest on the back of the chair in such an uncomfortably unnatural way that it was obvious he must have been carried bodily into the room and bundled into the chair by a well-intentioned, though clumsy, stranger. At the sound of his name he lifted his head a little to meet Horatio's gaze. The heavy torpor of his movements coupled with a familiar slackness of his features told Horatio all he needed know.

He turned to the bystanders for confirmation, lighting on the man he recognised as the Innkeeper.

“He had a fit?”

Horatio intended to explain in as few words as possible that Mister Kennedy was prone to fits on occasion but that they passed quickly, and providing he hadn't injured himself in the process the man would be himself again very shortly. However, he wasn't given a chance. The Innkeeper took one glance at Horatio's uniform and rounded on him.

“You, you're his mate what's sharing his room? Frightened the life out me, he did. Just walked out the door, took three paces and fell straight down on the pavement jerking all over the place. Has he been drinking?”  
  
The question caught Horatio off guard. “Drinking? No. It's-”

The man wouldn't let him continue. “Can't you snap him out of it? I thought he was dead, he went that still, and that's bad for business. Puts the customers right off. Hit his head a good crack too.”

The Innkeeper showed no sign of ending the tirade he had started, indeed he seemed to warming to his subject, appealing to the few bystanders that Archie's behaviour was both deviant and inconvenient for a man who has a business to run. His impertinence was infuriating but not so urgent as Archie's need and to this end Horatio allowed the words to wash over him as he came to kneel beside his friend. He spoke Archie's name again, more insistently, and Archie gave him a weak smile. He looked a state; his expression was glassy and fixed, his skin greyish against the white of his shirt whilst a cold sweat stood out in beads across his face.

  
“I happened again, didn't it?” Archie said. His voice was firm but slightly slurred, murmured as though his lips were too heavy for him to move.

He sounded resigned rather than surprised, and who could blame him. Horatio had hoped that after that last, painful episode in prison, Archie had somehow grown out of the fits he had suffered as a younger lad. Evidently Archie had felt the same way.

“It seems so.” Horatio replied as casually as he could.

He moved his fingers gingerly across Archie's face and into his hairline, sifting through the golden silk of his hair to see if he had indeed struck his head in falling. The hair on one side of his head was damp and gritty with dirty water, where he must have lain in a puddle, and as Horatio's fingers navigated Archie's jawline they found bruising already coming up swollen and red, and a lump a little behind the man's ear from which a minute trickle of blood painted his fingers. He winced in sympathy, but truly it was nothing a cold compress wouldn't fix.

The Innkeeper became aware he was being ignored and got Horatio's attention with a hand on his shoulder.

“Shall I send for a physician?”

Horatio looked at Archie, who shook his head fractionally, eyes signalling an urgent _no_. Doubtless he just wanted the drama of it to be over as soon as possible, and Horatio could empathise with that.  
  


“There's really no need. I am sure he shall be quite well within the hour. ”

“I don't mean to take a liberty, but you didn't see him kicking and moaning like 'e was possessed. Gave me quite a turn, he did-

Horatio's patience finally snapped.

“You do take a liberty, Sir. I will take Midshipman Kennedy to his room.”

Something of the Captain he would one day be was in Horatio's voice. Both the Innkeeper and the few onlookers dispersed and left two men alone in the parlour. Only then did Horatio kneel on the rug to look his friend in the eye.

“Can you stand?”

Archie nodded, allowing Horatio to loop an arm around his back and help him upright. With only a little weight on Horatio's arm the two made their way up to their room.

They were forced to stop, half-way up the stairs as Archie stiffened against him, turning his head to sneeze away from them. Archie had no force to give it but also none to contain it and the release makes them both stagger. He didn't even repress the sound, just turned his head weakly away in soft, wet exclamation.

Horatio braced this time to keep them steady. “So you're still doing that?”

Archie looked up to confirm “...'fraid I haven't _\---i-KFFSchh-_ haven't stopped.”

They paused until Horatio was sure that Archie was indeed finished sneezing for now, before resuming the short journey upstairs. The fire had warmed the room nicely and the beds looked inviting as Horatio helped his friend lower himself onto one of them. Archie took his own weight on his hands and lowered himself to slump on top of the covers, shoes and all. His eyes were closed.

Horatio hovered, hands twitching anxiously at his sleeves.

“I- do you need anything? What can I do?”

Archie's shoulders moved in a minute shrug and his eyes opened, blue as the ocean. Even half-comatose after a fit his smile managed to be self-effacing.

“I'll sleep. Don't look so worried. You should be used to me by now.””

As he spoke he half rose, kicked his boots off against the foot of the bed and started on his jacket. The man moved as if still in a dream and his fingers fumbled with the brass buttons. Horatio came to his aid without being asked. Archie shied minutely from the the man's deft touch and Horatio could feel him steeling himself not to protest as he was undressed down to his undershirt.

Silence fell like a reverie induced by their proximity to each other, broken only by Archie's congested breathing. He did not meet Horatio's eye and turned even further away when ticklish coughing overtook him again.

“Hmm. Definitely catching cold, on top of everything else.” Horatio thought out loud.

Archie shrugged, sniffling back congestion to murmur, “I'm sorry.”

“Don't be. Come on, get under the covers. I'll have them send you up some tea.”

“I- thank you.”

Archie did so and there he remained quiet for the rest of the evening. He managed to drink the tea, laced with a dash of brandy that made him splutter, then true to his prediction fell back into the heavy, drugged-seeming sleep which usually followed a seizure.

Horatio did not find rest so easy to come by. As twilight darkened into night he lit a lamp, a maid came up and stoked the fire to a bright glow and he sat in its glow, trying to read. The rain began again. It came in fickle flurries that waxed and waned as they were buffeted by the whims of the sea breeze. Again and again the noise drew Horatio's attention from the page and left him staring first into the middle distance and then at his sleeping companion. Archie had turned his face to the wall and was snoring softly. His breathing sounded hoarse and painful and every so often he would snuffle himself into half-waking only to relax again.

Lieutenant Hornblower listened to those sounds for a long time, nursing a sympathetic ache in his chest at every sound of discomfort. Eventually the lamp burned low, the fire was nothing but hot coals and the mounting shadows made even the pretence of the reading impossible. Only then did Horatio change into his own nightshirt and climb into the other bed. Sleep took a very long time to reach him.

* * * * *

Horatio Hornblower did not know how long he had slept, only that something had awakened him.

The rented room was dark when he woke and the red glow in the grate provided a little heat but only the barest suggestion of light, such that room appeared in shades of black and crimson. His eyes and mind adjusted to the strange room at the same time and he realised what had woken him- the sound of the man in the next bed first crying out and now coughing convulsively.

“Archie-? Archie, are you alright?”

Hortaio looked over at the next bed and the huddled shape under the sheets. After a moment his friend rolled over to look at him, his head half-shrouded under the covers for warmth. Mister Kennedy was awake, then, but breathing as though he'd been running. His hair was mussed and his face pale, eyes ringed with shadow. Evidently he hadn't slept as well as Horatio had hoped.

“Mmhm?” Archie made a thick, uncomfortable little noise as he spluttered his throat clear.

“You were thrashing about.”

The man shifted. His voice was painfully hoarse. “I'b sorry, Horatio. I didn't mean to wake you. I think I was dreaming and then I-”

Archie paused, breath suddenly shivering. His every feature gathered in a quick, ticklish grimace and hung there until broken by a gasp of surprise as he shuddered with sneezes directed down towards the mattress.  
  


“God bless you.” Horatio winced.

Archie tried to smile, tried to sniff and then just doubled into his cupped hands again.

“And God bless you again.”

“I'b sorry. Excuse be.” Archie tried to blow his nose but only started coughing once more. He managed to splutter out “do we have any water?”

“Of course. Let me-”

Kicking himself for not having thought of it before, Horatio rose and filled a glass. He sat on the edge of Archie's bed to offer it and drew back the covers to take a better look at his friend.

At first Archie Kennedy drew back from the incursion of colder air then he breathed deeply in relief and tugged at the collar of his nightshirt. Horatio did not like the waxy cast of his skin at all.

“May I?”

He placed a hand on Archie's forehead, trying to gauge something. It was warm and moist with sweat but was it too warm? A quick comparison with his own dry cheek was not conclusive. The man had his head under the blankets after all. Damn it all, Horatio didn't know how to do this. He was more comfortable with a musket in his hand.

“Do you feel feverish?”

Archie considered, and then shrugged and shook his head. “I don't think so.”

Sitting up, his knees were raised to his chest and his blonde head rested on them as though he was too tired to hold it up. Under the white shirt his back kicked in and out with accelerated breathing, gradually slowing until the only movements were the tight runs of shivers that made his whole thin body shake. He wrapped his arms around his knees and drew in closer, eying Horatio's own thin shirt as he asked-

“Aren't you cold?”

Horatio shook his head. “I think it's just you.”

He could only watch his friend shiver for a moment longer before his expression softened. “You look dreadful. Come here.”

Horatio rearranged the covers and swung his legs around so that he was the right way on the bed, half propped on one elbow with his head at the pillow end near Archie's own.

Those blue eyes were wide and surprised in the dark. “What are you doing?”

“You're taking ill and you won't sleep while you're shivering like that. I'm warm. Lie down.”

He actually had to give the man a gentle shove to get him to settle back on the bed. Even then he felt Archie wincing away from him, turning his head from Horatio's gaze and into the pillow as though afraid to look at him. Perhaps there was no wonder. It was difficult for Archie to trust to touch, even to friendly touch; Horatio had learned that when they were in prison.

“It's alright. It's only me, Archie, I won't hurt you.” Horatio tried to reassure him.

Archie did not relax. On the contrary he suddenly flipped over to present Horatio with his back, shoulders tense and drawn away from any contact.

“No-” he murmured. “I have... to...”

Horatio could almost _hear_ the irritated squint taking over Archie's face, the ticklish twitch of his nose as prepared to- “-- _hh! Hd'_ _ **CHsch**_ _!-_ _ **CHSch**_ _!-_ _ **CHsshhuh**_ _!”_

He felt the tight quake of the man's shoulders as he seized into the handkerchief again and again. The sound was thick and congested and finished with a useless attempt to blow his blocked nose.

At length Archie resurfaced somewhat, enough to offer a hoarse. “I'm sorry.”

“Don't be. God bless you.”

But the sneezing must have startled Archie into wakefulness again and he refused to be soothed. “Horatio... you won't get any sleep if you stay here with me. Besides you might catch this.”

“I doubt it.” Horatio considered. “But I don't think turning over will make much difference at this point. We shared a berth all the way home. Do you _want_ me to stay here?”

A pause. Archie Kennedy's voice was hesitant in the dark.

“I- Yes. Please. It's just-” He coughed. He was all but in Horatio's arms and yet his voice seemed to be coming from a very long way away. Perhaps from back in prison or from earlier times still. Horatio remembered how they were both relentlessly bullied on their first voyage together. He had shaken it off, but he doubted that Archie had. The words seemed to be coming from the mouth of the seventeen year old Horatio had met all those years ago, bloody and beaten and shaken by seizures in the night.

“-I'm tired of this. The fits, catching ill again. I don't mean to-”

He sneezed again suddenly, a ticklish, exhausted “ _ngk_ _ **TSCH!”**_ buried wetly into the crook of his arm. He let it serve as the end of his statement and simply sighed.

When Mister Kennedy kept his face averted, Horatio drew closer. It was only partially to offer his warmth. The tired, pained sound at the end of that sneeze ignited a curious magnetism in Horatio's chest that wouldn't be satisfied until he lay as close as he could be, with his breast pressed to Archie's back and their knees awkwardly touching. His face was buried in the nape of the man's neck and his next words were addressed to the blonde curls behind Archie's ear. He could feel his lips brushing cloth and flesh when they moved.

“You nearly starved to death, then half-drowned. Now you're under the weather. Is that really a surprise? None of that was your fault.”

The tenderness in his own voice surprised him.

Archie's shoulders shook, fractionally. He drew a tight, shuddering little sniffle which might have been related his cold and might not; one quick hiccupping sob, swiftly quelled. And because Acting Lieutenant Horatio Hornblower had no idea what to do about this, he lay quite still and counted the man's breath in and out. He never did know what to do when someone bared their soul to him.

The sickness, that he could handle. He wasn't much of a nurse but that at least he could help, and if that caring soothed some other pain for both of them, some ache that was present in him too, that was mystifyingly, intensely _Archie,_ then that was to the good.

It didn't take long now for Archie to fall asleep, leaning back into Horatio's warmth. His breathing gradually stilled to a steady, not unpleasant snore that made Horatio fancy Archie's nose would be a burden to him come the morning. For now, though, he slept, and Horatio did the same.

END.


End file.
